Summer
by LittleFreakyO.o
Summary: It's not always the victims that suffer. Post Canon.


He never liked summer. Sweat, ugly girls in bikinis, even_ uglier _guys clad only in speedos, sunburns, they were all part of the monstrosities that was the summer season.

Thomas hated it.

But as a general rule, they were _bearable_. A complaint here and there as he lounged into front of a fan, but apart from that, one would never be able to tell that Thomas Arclight_ loathed_ the heat.

That changed when he was seventeen. He'd seen so much, done so much through that one year, and although he never once publicly showed that it was affecting him, deep inside, he knew that this summer was going to be the most brutal yet.

"Nii-sama!" Mihael called from the lounge room, hoping to catch at least one of his brother's attention so that he could inform him of what he had just seen on TV. Thomas lounged on a chair, his feet propped up on the table in a relaxed manner, despite his head rolling over the side of the chair in an over exaggerated fashion.

"Yes, Mihael?" Chris called, putting down the batter he had currently been mixing.

"Come see what's happening in Heartland City!"

Chris took the apron off, casting a disdained look at his brother still lounging on the chair before walking into the lounge room, rolling his eyes. His father brushed by him as he walked into the room, giving a silent acknowledgement before noticing his son sprawled on the chair like he owned the place. Byron knew that summer was never his son's cup of tea, but he didn't need to put his feet on the table.

"Get your feet off the table, Thomas." The younger male scolded his son, causing his son to roll his eyes.

"You gunna put me in a coma if I don't?" Thomas's tone was mocking, but he meant no_ real_ harm by it.

Thomas felt a hand swipe at the back of his head, knocking him off balance and causing him to clutch at the headboard of the seat to stop himself from falling. "Don't talk to your father like that!" he lectured. Thomas knew it was an overreaction to an obvious joke, but he nevertheless apologized and his father nodded his acceptance, holding the paper above his head in an attempt to read it.

Thomas's eyes wandered across the front page, looking to see if there was anything of particular interest in the news column that his father read every single morning without fail. His eyes connected with the front picture, and Thomas felt all the blood drain from his body as it registered the image on the page.

"Son, are you going to… Oh." Bryon frowned, flipping the article into his eyesight and giving a sympathetic sigh. He dropped the paper to the table, gripping his son's arm in reassurance as he begun to shake. "Son, the fire's nowhere near us, we're safe here, and you don't have to worry about it anymore."

"F…fire." Thomas mumbled, subconsciously feeling his arms lock themselves around his knees in pure panic. His eyes blurred from the image of his father in the off-white room, warping into the swirls of grey and reds and oranges of all around him. The flames danced before his eyes, continuing to jump and mock him as they singed at beautiful blue locks and screeched their way through the girl's ruby red eyes as it slowly enveloped her, scorning his vision. He called her name, screaming endless words as he tried to reassure her as he did his best to extinguish her burns. He hadn't wanted this to happen; she wasn't supposed to get injured this badly. Her own screams pierced his ears, only accompanied by the endless pop and crackle of the fire that surrounded them.

"Thomas!" he vaguely heard the sound of his name called by his father, but her screams were louder, drowning out everything around him. His skin flared up, as if the flames that licked at her body had finally found his too. It seared at his flesh, prepared to ignite and eliminate anything in its way. Through the scorching flames, he felt himself cringe as his scarred and heated thigh collided with the floor, accompanied by the rest of his body mere seconds later. He paid no attention to it – his mind was focused fully on saving her, even if he had started it all. He had to save her.

He never could.

She was always blackened and burnt before he even had a chance to think. Tarnished, imperfect, as if she had nothing anymore if she weren't to make it out. Every time he got there, her eyes were already gone, it was already too late.

"nii-sama!" a panicked voice called in desperation, and Thomas almost cried with relief as the fire flittered away, revealing the fluffy pink hair and wide green eyes of his younger brother, his features contorted with worry. "Nii-sama, you're fine! It was just a panic attack, a bad dream!"

Thomas wondered how Mihael managed to stay so polite even though his words were soaked with anguish. He felt his head roll into his brother's lap, his mind so far away, not even bothering trying to decipher why it was only Mihael that could ever extract Thomas from those visions, the memories, the _nightmares_ of that night.

"Mihael…" he mumbled, reaching out for his brother's hand. "I couldn't save her."

People always agonize, sympathize for the victim; for they were called as such for a reason. One could even sympathize for the hero, for going out of their way to protect and save another. Sure, he may have started the fire, but it didn't mean he wasn't a hero for saving her, right?

Thomas lay there, completely unwilling to move, not caring what his father or brothers had to say.

He wasn't a hero, because he hadn't saved her. He was still the villain, and villains didn't deserve sympathy.


End file.
